


Eros Shakes My Heart

by honeybun



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Cooking to relieve stress, Drinking prohibition alcohol, Fluff, Graves is a moron, Idiots, Kissing, M/M, Oh My God, Requited Unrequited Love, True Love, We love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybun/pseuds/honeybun
Summary: A story where Credence is much more sensible than Graves.Because kissing someone and then disappearing seconds after isn't the best idea anyone's ever had. Probably.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi <3 
> 
> A new little story I wrote on the train while squashed against too many people <3 <3 <3 
> 
> I usually write Graves and Credence dancing around each other more than getting together, so I felt it was time for a change, hope you like it.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ weepingstar xoxox

He’d well and truly fucked up. Even more so than the time in sixth year when he’d drunk too much Butterbeer with his friend Marcus Ginty and woken up with the worst hangover of his life and stories he would spend the latter half of his teenage years living down. It was certainly worse than the violent sickness he'd experienced and then the memory of vomiting in front of Madame Pinkwick the charms teacher.

 

Graves had kissed Credence.

He’d gone and ruined the perfect peace he’d worked so hard to construct for Credence. He’d ruined the sense of trust he’d managed to instil in the boy who surely now thought him a pervert and would no doubt have left his home to go ask Goldstein to harbour him there until leaving for boarding school. Going anywhere that wasn't with Graves.

Graves had fought with the Magical Education ministers on that particular subject. He'd told them Credence was too special to go to board in Ilvermorny alone, needed a stable influence in his life, and had offered himself up as such. He'd fought so hard to be able to have him tutored in the safety of his home. All the while he knew he had selfishly done so to keep Credence close, to cosset him and wrap him in cotton wool within the walls of his brownstone building.

Surely Credence must hate him now, likely already left. Probably happy to go, Graves thought, he’d smothered the boy although he’d tried so very hard not to.

 -

Graves doesn’t come home.

Credence sighs when it hits four hours since _The Incident_. He wonders how Graves must be punishing himself, and wishes that he’d have waited two seconds after kissing him to simply ask how Credence felt about it, instead of disapparating so fast it must have given him whiplash.

Credence decides to get started on dinner early, thinks that if his Graves comes back, at least he’ll be well fed if not _delusional_ as to the nature of their relationship. Credence tries his best to find comfort in the slow and easy cutting of vegetables, stirring the pot slowly, decides on an Italian Pappa al pomodoro soup, to _feed the soul_ Graves would have said if he was here. Credence knows if he tries he can stretch out the time to an hour and a half at least, can keep his hands and mind busy instead of worrying over an absent Graves. He pushes to the back of his mind the thought that maybe Graves won’t ever come back, doesn’t let himself think about that and instead pours his prayers into the creation of his soup.

Credence decides that perhaps he’ll make dessert too, keep him busy some more. And maybe some baking. Maybe biscuits. Maybe biscuits  _and_ a cake. Credence wonders if Graves might want anything to take to work this week _when_  he comes back. 

-

Graves rubbed his back, grumbling over the whiplash, most likely, and tries to stretch it out unsuccessfully. He was drinking himself to a stupor in a no-maj speakeasy. He'd thought he could see Credence’s face amongst the pretty and waif dancers on the stage, and only became more lovesick as he searches for the glowing skin, the elegant nose, the plush lips of his Credence. Graves knows that he must truly be infatuated, must love Credence like he’d feared, had never felt the ache so keenly as he does now, the thought of Credence not in his home, safe and sound and happy, tightens his heart strings and makes it all the more difficult to breathe.

Graves hadn’t coveted Credence from the start, he assures himself somewhat defensively. It was just how the boy acted, how he looked after Graves, and allowed himself to be looked after in return that really did Graves in. The thought of going home to his little darling, sitting down to a home-cooked dinner, sitting in the company of the boy, taking a stroll out on a Sunday, had all too quickly wound Credence around his heart, as sticky and sweet as honey. Credence was too beautiful, ethereal even - no, not even, _certainly_. Graves could barely go a day without giving in to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, or slowly rubbing a thumb against his soft jaw. He knew his small indiscretions would get him into trouble sooner or later, and here he was. His dear boy had only been so pliant and sweet to him out of a sense of duty, a feeling that he owed Graves something, Graves feels his stomach lurch at the thought of taking advantage of him. Sick, you sick, _sick_ bastard, Graves mutters under his breath, downing another glass of something that was most likely made in a no-maj bath tub.

 

As the home-made alcohol makes it’s way down his throat, burning all the way, Graves supposes that his love for Credence had started and bloomed in much the same way as his kiss with Credence had happened. Sudden and violent, unexpected and inevitable.

It had been the 17th of April, Graves remembers, of course. A warm breeze in the air as Graves had left for work. When entering the house his usual welcoming party of one was absent, immediately, worry had set in. He’d searched high and low for Credence, even checking in the pantry just in case, wracking his brains for how someone could have gotten through his ridiculous wards. On the brink of sending a patronus to Madam Picquery in a state of panic, Graves had spied the outside door was slightly ajar, taking a deep breath and his wand in hand, expecting the worst, he still gets quite the shock.

Credence - _his_ Credence - is asleep on the neat grass of the lawn, breeze gently ruffling his grown out fringe. Graves isn’t much for gardening but he does suddenly wish he’d planted an entire meadow for Credence, bright red poppies to contrast perfectly with his pale skin and shiny black hair. His sleeping cherub was shaded partially by a cherry tree, laying peacefully with a book still just in the reach of his hand, a glass of cordial set on the ground. Graves knows he’s been caught, snagged with the arrow of love, can’t move from the door to allow Credence the privacy of sleep, too enchanted by his darling boy, slumbering on and doing nothing more. He realises eventually that he’s gripped the door handle so hard that it’s warped the shape of it. And so he lets go, makes his way over to Credence, and, as quietly as he can, sits next to him, 50 Dragot suit and all. Graves tries to figure out what it is he’s feeling, it feels like an odd fullness, buoyant, but, yes, _full_. Not like he’d eaten too much, but just kind of, complete.

- 

That utter _bastard_ , Credence thinks. Graves had forgotten he’d left his wards on when he’d so suddenly left after kissing the life out of Credence. Credence had become panicked when it had gotten late (Credence had begun tapping his foot at five in the afternoon, so late was merely six thirty) and there was still no sign of Graves, still no scuffle of heavy boots or distinct smell of woodsmoke and cigars. Credence had no way to leave the house and search for him, hated the thought of making his way out into the world again, especially without Graves but he would have _done it_ , for him. That utter bastard had kissed him and left and made Credence feel so happy and then _left_  and had finally done what Credence had been begging for for months and then _**left**_. Credence was going to murder him. He’d made his soup, a tiramisu, sugar biscuits, tried his hand at cauldron cakes and then decided to make a vat of pasta sauce to either use over the next few weeks at dinner or to drown Graves in on his return.

Credence had been _so_ immensely happy when he’d moved in with Graves, hadn’t expected anything else from the man but he had been given so much. He had seen the pains Graves had gone to for him, fought tooth and nail to keep him. He'd felt so hot and flustered at the thought of being in Graves’ home, happy to cook and clean and have a few tutoring sessions a week, mainly now taught by Graves as he'd found the tutors insufficient and slowly dismissed them all. Credence had been so happy to catch the rare loving glance from Graves and hope and pray it had meant more. He had, for once in his life, believed in more.

Credence had kept scraps of his secret love affair with this spectre of Graves', this ghost he could see hiding behind the man, whisper thin but _there_. He'd saved the tissue paper when the man had bought him chocolate hearts on Valentine’s day, had retained the tickets from when Graves had spontaneously taken him on a ride around the park in a horse and trap. He had, sinfully, secretly stolen a jumper out of Graves’ hamper, pressing it to his face and breathing in as deeply as possible, kept the jumper under his pillow to hide and then retrieve when he was having trouble sleeping. He'd even gone as far as to make a special deal with Effie the house elf to promise not to tell Mr. Graves where his favourite jumper was, even though the master of the house had been stumped as to where it could have possibly gone. Credence lived with the guilt of taking away Graves’ jumper with the utmost grace.

 -

Graves knew he was completely too drunk when he found himself telling the barkeep just how sweet his darling was, his precious Credence - smells so heavenly it almost couldn’t be real, thought to himself it couldn’t be _normal_ , surely. He thought about the scarf Credence had looked around the house to find for two weeks straight, becoming very distressed when he couldn’t locate it because it was a gift from Graves and the boy felt terribly guilty. Graves thought about how it was lying in his desk draw in his office, and thought about when he would sometimes bring the scarf up to his nose and breathe in the vanilla and the sugar and the soft smell of baking.

Suddenly jolting out of his reverie, Graves realised he was purposefully keeping himself away from his sweet smelling angel, _why would he do that!_ He couldn’t remember. Slamming down some random amount of no-maj money, he left the bar and made his slightly sore (whiplash, definitely) way home.

 -

Hearing the clumsy steps of someone who had surely had too much to drink, Credence, incensed at Graves’ cheek in leaving him all alone, makes his way downstairs. Entirely too happy to see Graves even though he wishes he wasn’t, putting on a very stern face which he surely won’t hold for long because relief is flowing through his veins. He follows a trail of boots and coat to the study and is greeted with an inebriated Graves, with, well... with his face buried in the scarf he’d been trying oh so hard to find weeks ago...

Graves looks up from his sinful scarf sniffing to see the subject of his heart-ache.

“Credence?”

 

Credence doesn’t have the time to answer and ask what he’s doing because he’s swept up in a bear hug, crushed to Graves’ chest and can barely speak.

“I thought you would have left already,” Graves murmurs into Credence’s crown, breath disturbing the flyaway hairs.

 

“Why would I leave, you silly man,” Credence replies breathlessly. Graves, realising small specks of liquid are soaking through his shirt, realises little Credence’s voice is strained and broken up.

Loosening his grip somewhat, he tilts his darling boy's head up to face his own, little tears are clinging to Credence's inky black lashes, he brushes some away with his thumb, frowning because he seems to be going about everything wrong.

Graves can’t help himself, disregarding the last few hours of stern lecturing he'd given himself for kissing his vulnerable ward, he bends his head down, brushes his nose against Credence’s, and softly, so softly, kisses him again.

Eventually pulling back, sure that Credence will leave now, he knocks his forehead against his darling's, wishing he could hear what he was thinking, wincing and thinking perhaps not. Stroking Credence’s cheekbones with his hands at either side of his face, trying to memorise his boy now he’s finally close. Waiting for the inevitable disgust from his darling, instead, he’s immensely surprised to hear, so very quietly but clearly spoken by his Credence

“I love you, you silly man.”

Credence pushes his face up towards Graves' who’s standing stock still, not reacting for a few moments until he suddenly seizes up Credence in his arms and gasps a laugh that sounds a little like a sob. The both of them entirely involved in the other for long moments, brushing away tears and murmuring confessions of love, and oh how stupid I’ve been my darling, oh I’m sorry sweet boy, I _promise_ I’ll never leave again. Laying little kisses on Credence's mouth, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, his chin.

 

It feels right, it feels like coming Home.


End file.
